Miss McGurphy’s ballerinas
had the girth of a small Volks
we never called them fat
they were just full-figured folks
in the bar below their school
you could hear the clip-clip-clop
of their enormous feet
as they pliéd and pirouetted
and tried to keep the beat

on that sad and fateful day
the bar lights shook
the plywood floor gave way.
it was raining ballerinas
on the half-crocked clientele
they used their pink tutus
as parachutes
and smiled as they fell
remembering Miss McGurphy’s
kind and sage advice
to make a graceful landing
like the prancing feet of mice

(originally published in z-composition)